


A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

by _Melodic_ (Sae)



Series: H/D Last Drabble Writer Standing [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Bars and Pubs, Boys Kissing, Dreams, Drinking, Established Relationship, HP: EWE, Kissing, M/M, Marriage, Pining, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8057638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sae/pseuds/_Melodic_
Summary: He’s haunted by the memories of Malfoy’s soft lips, slick skin sliding against his, confessions whispered in the dark of night. Tormented by the terrible weight in his stomach when Malfoy revealed his engagement; his fervent need to obey his parents, marry and produce an heir.





	A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Written for slythindor100's H/D Last Drabble Writer Standing Week 2.  
> Prompt: _Harry’s mind worked feverishly and his dreams, when he finally fell asleep, were broken and disturbed by images of Malfoy..._

“Another round, please.”

The bartender hesitates momentarily, eyeing Harry’s drunken state, before placing a fresh drink on the mostly shredded coaster.

“Cheers to the happy couple,” Harry mutters bitterly under his breath, tipping the glass back and finishing his whisky in one go. The alcohol burns its way down his throat, a welcome distraction from the turbulent thoughts swirling in his head.

He’s likely walking down the aisle right now, looking posh and gorgeous in a fitted suit. Or, perhaps, he’s wearing traditional wedding robes; The Malfoy’s are a rather traditional lot. Harry is certain Astoria looks beautiful; the perfect Pureblood wife, the woman Malfoy just _had_ to marry.

Harry forcefully shakes his head, willing the traitorous thoughts to disappear. Harry’s mind has been working feverishly since Malfoy told him the news, unable to focus on anything else. During the day he does his best to throw himself into work, but at night there’s nothing to do but lay in bed, listlessly tossing and turning. Sleep evades him and his dreams, when he finally does fall asleep, are broken and disturbed by images of Malfoy.

He’s haunted by the memories of Malfoy’s soft lips, slick skin sliding against his, confessions whispered in the dark of night. Tormented by the terrible weight in his stomach when Malfoy revealed his engagement; his fervent need to obey his parents, marry and produce an heir.

Harry wonders if he’s kissing his new bride right now, if they are laughing merrily at the reception already. Is Malfoy smiling broadly at his guests while he inwardly suppresses a grimace? Does his heart hurt even a fraction as much as the useless organ being torn apart in Harry’s chest?

Is it really too late? Harry could always storm into the reception, reveal his feelings in front of ancient, shocked Pureblood families. He could watch Malfoy battle with his familial duties and his desires. Harry could experience being rejected all over again, this time with an audience. No, sod Gryffindor bravery. Harry will stay right here, order another whisky, and drink himself into oblivion.

Light floods the dim pub, the front door swinging open and revealing a disheveled, breathless and determined blond.

“Potter.”


End file.
